


The Way

by orphan_account



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never talk about love. They don't need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying my hand at writing drabbles these days... This one is for zoesmith, who requested fluffy Spike/Angel with the prompt "cell phone." AtS Season 5.

It's in the way that Spike calls when Angel's at work. He doesn't always come by, even though he's usually somewhere else in the building. Instead, he pulls out his cell phone and calls Angel during the most important conferences. Spike's somehow convinced Harmony to always let his calls through, and Angel always knows who it is, but he picks up anyway and endures Spike's low seduction while his clients watch expectantly, wondering why Angel immediately has to sit down behind his desk or excuse himself.

 

It's in the way that Angel takes Spike home after each fight. Spike doesn't consider a night of patrolling a success until he's lying bleeding on the ground, and it's not unusual for Angel to sling him over his shoulder and dump him into the passenger seat of the Viper, muttering grumpily about the blood staining the seat. Spike is always feeling better by the next night, though, and Angel is well rewarded for his efforts.

 

It's in the way that Spike always has a mug of blood ready for him when he wakes up. Spike never seems to sleep, a habit borne of years living wary in an open crypt, subject to the whims of his human counterparts. But he always knows when Angel wakes, somehow, and when Angel makes his way to the kitchen, there's always a steaming mug of blood on the table across from Spike's seat. Spike likes to crumble Weetabix into it, and though Angel complains, it's beginning to grow on him.

 

It's in the way that they don't talk about the elephant in the room, the slayer they both love. They know that Angel has moved on as surely as they know that Spike hasn't, and the phone number Angel has tucked into the top drawer of his desk taunts them with its presence. Spike opens the drawer from time to time to stare at the post-it note with a strange wistfulness. But he never takes it out, and Angel is quietly relieved.

 

It's in the way that Angel babbles when he's buried within Spike. Angelus was always verbal with his partners, taunting and shattering and harsh, and Angel has since blocked it all so well that he doesn't speak during sex for fear of the same vitriol pouring out. But with Spike, it's inevitable and somehow all right for him to accept the sins of the past. So he shouts and screams and laughs, and Spike grins and urges him on harder.

 

They never talk about love.

 

They don't need to.


End file.
